


friday night's alright

by nobodysusername



Series: academic publisher au [1]
Category: Young Avengers (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, M/M, Minor Kate Bishop/America Chavez, idk what to tag this..., its so niche
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:01:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24959566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nobodysusername/pseuds/nobodysusername
Summary: “Your life is Dickensian,” David comments. “I mean, the three things I’ve learned about you today suggest as much, anyways.”“‘Dickensian,’” Tommy quotes, his voice mocking but playful. “This is why you are an editor and I am a lowly indexer.”
Relationships: David Alleyne/Tommy Shepherd
Series: academic publisher au [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1834471
Comments: 4
Kudos: 48





	friday night's alright

David knows that he shouldn’t harbor feelings for Tommy. There are a lot of reasons for him not to, and very few justifications for the unfortunate crush he’s developed. Tommy is not punctual, for one, despite living less than a mile from the office; secondly, he’s a bit of a jock. Thirdly and most damning for David, he’s seemingly either straight or closeted. David doesn’t mean to stereotype and is hesitant to typecast people, but he’s known that much about Tommy since their first meeting. All he does in the office (besides indexing, which is his job) is flirt with women—and that’s not even very easy with a staff as small as theirs. On the few occasions David has gone along with his colleagues for Friday-evening cocktails, Tommy has flirted with the female bartenders relentlessly.

But to the guy’s credit, his rapid indexing has saved the Press from deadline disasters countless times, and he also frequently bestows his fellow employees with coffee and pastries on Monday mornings. Also, he’s _really_ attractive. He’s fit, the way David is fit: perhaps a runner in high school, likely a regular gym-goer but not a gym rat. And he’s clearly not too preoccupied with his carbs and his macros, if his lunches and pastry addiction are anything to go by.

It is less than ideal that Tommy approaches David’s cubicle as he’s thinking about this issue.

“Can you spare me a moment of your time, good sir?” Tommy asks in a rather unfortunate English accent. He’s holding a thick binding of page proofs.

“Sure,” David sighs, pushing back from his desk slightly to orient himself toward Tommy.

“These page proofs suck,” Tommy says. “Did you copyedit them _at all_?”

David scowls. “Yes, and I resent the criticism. What’s the issue?”

“The _issue_ ,” Tommy says melodramatically, “is that there are a bunch of orthographical mistakes, man. And typos. And I think you’re either really off your game, here, or someone sent the wrong files for proofing.”

David cringes at the thought. “I sincerely hope you’re wrong, or Kate’s gonna kick somebody’s ass.”

“No shit,” Tommy agrees. He passes the page proofs to David. “You take a look and get back to me, I’ll work on something else for now. But be quick about it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” David says, waving Tommy away. “Not like I’m doing anything myself here,” he adds under his breath, sarcastically.

“I heard that,” Tommy calls as he walks away. David watches him go, admiring (against his own will) Tommy’s shoulders. He forces himself to look back at his computer screen before Tommy reaches his cubicle, halfheartedly trying not to let his crush slide from embarrassing to completely pathetic.

He rather hurriedly finishes copyediting the manuscript chapter open on his monitor, and then turns to the page proofs. It only takes the first couple of pages for him to confirm that this is indeed the wrong version of the manuscript. “Fuck,” he mutters.

Reluctantly, he stands. Page proofs in hand, he heads to Kate’s office.

“Hey,” he says after knocking briefly on her opened door. “The page proofs for _The First Avenger_ are duds. Wrong version of the manuscript got printed.”

“Damn,” Kate says, leaning back into her office chair. “Okay, just print the right ones and have one of the interns run it to Tommy from the machine. Hopefully he didn’t get too far with the index, because we basically put the second draft through the shredder to get to the final draft.”

“I know,” David says, smiling. He and Kate had both been pretty ruthless with it, mostly because this is a highly marketable book—especially for an academic press, so if it’s successful, it’ll be huge for them.

He heads back to his desk with the page proofs under his arm. Back in his chair yet unwilling to go back to reading on the monitor, he skims the proofs absently. Then he notices that some of the pages have been marked up—by Tommy, apparently. David reads them and is surprised to by the little notes and comments he’s left in the margins. It’s sound feedback, simple but useful changes—including changes that hadn’t occurred to David. Huh. It’s more akin to line editing than copyediting, what Tommy seems to have done with the early pages of the manuscript.

He opens the server on the computer and opens the latest version of the manuscript in Word. Then he begins to methodically comb through Tommy’s notes (written in green ink, in a small and angular scrawl) and the manuscript. He starts to incorporate the relevant changes (the ones not made redundant by David’s and Kate’s revisions). As he’s doing this, he senses a presence hovering near him. He looks up and finds Tommy.

“Hello,” Tommy says. He’s grinning like the Chesire cat, which David decides is not a good thing.

“Hello,” David answers curtly.

“Do you have my corrected proofs?” Tommy asks. He leans against the wall (if you can call it that) of the cubicle.

“Not yet,” David says, “but I’m about to print them. One of the interns will grab them from downstairs and then you’ll be all set. Five minutes.”

“So what are you up to?”

“Doing my job, you know. Office stuff.” David looks at Tommy once again, and is surprised by the intensity of Tommy’s gaze back at him.

“You may think I’m a slacker, but my work proves otherwise,” Tommy says imperiously. He smiles. “You liked my edits, then?”

David scowls, because he’d thought Tommy couldn’t see his monitor, but nods as he hits CTRL + P on the manuscript. “Honestly, yes. You’re a good reader. Why don’t you…?” he trails off, unsure of how to ask without it sounding rude.

“Why don’t I work as an editor, too?” Tommy asks. “Well, thank you, I’m flattered, but you went to _Princeton_ and I went to _juvenile detention_ after high school. Not a lot of internship opportunities there,” he laughs. “Plus the field’s insanely competitive—as you know. Indexing kind of just fell into my lap, and Kate’s a friend, so really nepotism is the only reason I’m here at all.”

David is kind of hung up on the unprompted juvenile detention admission (it raises more questions than it answers, that’s for sure), but he also doesn’t like the way Tommy’s framing his role at the Press. “Tommy, you definitely belong here, regardless of how you got here. You save our asses every day.” And it’s not like the rest of them didn’t get opportunities through nepotism, besides.

Tommy grins at that. “Glad you feel that way. Anyways, I don’t see any interns, so I’m gonna go get my proofs now.”

David spends the rest of the day pondering juvenile detention, as it pertains to Tommy Shepherd. He feels kind of sleazy about wondering—it’s not his business, after all—but on the other hand, Tommy had brought it up himself, so maybe it’s not a source of shame or stigma for him. Which David thinks is a good thing, because obviously prison (including juvenile detention) is colossally fucked up both conceptually and in practice, but he digresses.

David’s image of Tommy has been turned on its head in the course of a single, extremely brief conversation. He’d been so flippant about it, so maybe it’s common knowledge? He supposes he could ask Kate about it, but he won’t (for obvious reasons). But it only further piques David’s interest in Tommy; the more aware he becomes of how little he knows, the more badly he wants to learn. 

There aren’t any more issues with the page proofs, which means Tommy is going to be preoccupied with making the index for the next few days, which in turn means that they probably won’t interact for the rest of the week. At least, this is what David assumes when he’s clocking out, but he’s swiftly (and luckily) proven wrong by Tommy.

Tommy catches up to him while he’s descending the stairs to the first floor. “Long time no see,” he says, grinning.

“Indeed,” David answers. He holds the door open for Tommy as they exit the building, and is surprised to find Tommy walking alongside him in the direction of the bus stop.

“Don’t you live in the opposite direction?” David asks.

“Kinda creepy that you know that,” Tommy answers mildly. David is embarrassed but resolutely doesn’t defend himself because he knows that would only make things worse. “I’m kidding,” Tommy adds after a moment. “Everybody knows where I live. I’m visiting my brother and his boyfriend.”

David can’t help the wash of disappointment that briefly overtakes him as his mind begins to churn out thoughts about statistics of homosexuality among siblings. Relics of his own internal crisis from years ago, now his brain is traitorously pointing out the unlikelihood that Tommy would ever date a man—an improbability of which David is already well aware, _thank you, brain_. 

“Brother?” he prompts, half out of curiosity and half to shut his brain up.

“Yeah,” Tommy says.

He doesn’t elaborate, so David asks, “Older or younger?”

“We’re twins,” Tommy answers, shrugging. “Not actually sure which one of us is older because we were both adopted.”

“Your life is Dickensian,” David comments. “I mean, the three things I’ve learned about you today suggest as much, anyways.”

“‘Dickensian,’” Tommy quotes, his voice mocking but playful. “This is why you are an editor and I am a lowly indexer.”

“Indexers are also extremely erudite, don’t kid yourself,” David answers dismissively, smiling.

“Yeah, though, sorry for oversharing today. Whenever I see my brother it kind of comes to the fore of my mind and stays there until he goes away again. I mean, not ‘goes away,’ but,” he shrugs noncommittally. “I don’t know what I’m trying to say, but since you’re not my therapist it’s probably better not to say it anyways. Sorry!”

Talking this much to Tommy—or rather, listening this much to Tommy talk (about something other than a book manuscript) makes David think of that Walt Whitman quote. _I am large, I contain multitudes_. That’s Tommy. David is so dumb for thinking otherwise, or really for trying to make himself believe otherwise (for the sake of self-preservation, but still…) How foolish of him, one-dimensionalizing a guy he really barely knows, precisely because of his own fears about what he suspects.

“No, don’t be,” David says quickly, to cut off the growing silence. “We’re friends.” David hopes they are, the way colleagues are, anyways.

Tommy raises his eyebrows at that, but doesn’t disagree. “Friends in high places,” he says.

“That would be Kate, not me. She’s the editor-in-chief, you and I are both lowly serfs in her kingdom.”

“Yeah,” Tommy agrees. “House of M is her world and we just live in it. By the way, was Kate pissed about the mistake?”

“Nah,” David answers. “You caught it early enough that it won’t screw anything up. Not sure whose fault it was, though, so I hope I don’t get pinned if we have to play the blame game.”

“If she didn’t give a shit today, we’re all in the clear,” Tommy says confidently. “Kate’s too busy being a competent leader to be angry at everybody else’s stupidity.”

David laughs. “So are you and your brother identical?”

“No, fraternal,” Tommy says. “But we look really similar, aside from his hair—it’s dark, and pretty curly.”

David tries to picture Tommy with dark, curly hair. “Weird,” he says.

“His boyfriend likes it,” Tommy says, grinning. David starts to say that he hadn’t meant it like that, but Tommy waves him off. “I’m kidding, I know.”

They’ve reached the bus stop, so they both sit on the bench. “I feel like I barely know you,” Tommy says after a minute of silence. “That’s weird, right? We’ve been coworkers for almost a year.”

David shrugs. “It’s not that weird. I’m a competent worker, which means you don’t usually send stuff back to me—today notwithstanding.” He smiles at Tommy then. 

“A ‘competent worker,’” Tommy repeats, amused. “I love the way you talk. We should hang out sometime outside of work. Everybody loves you, but I feel like you barely engage when we go out.”

“Bars aren’t really my scene,” David answers honestly. “I think it’s good for maintaining office cohesion, but,” he shrugs.

“You’re just not doing it right,” Tommy says confidently. “Though, to be fair, nobody at the office does it right. They’re all like, ‘let’s share an order of nachos and nurse the same beer for three hours while we talk about our jobs that we’re _already at for forty hours a week_ ,’” he gestures vaguely but animatedly as he speaks, and David watches in amusement. “I mean, it’s absurd, right?”

“Right,” David says, skeptical.

“But anyways, come with me on Friday to the karaoke bar. Now _there’s_ a good time. And if you don’t like it I’ll never bother you about incorrect proofs again, I swear.”

“Please, _don’t_ not-bother me about incorrect proofs, the last thing we need is trash going to print.” David responds, considering the offer. It kind of sounds like a date to him. And Tommy seems genuinely interested in getting to know him—why? ‘Perfunctory’ is a perfectly normal status for a work relationship, David thinks, and yet Tommy clearly wants them to be better— _proper_ —friends (or something). “Isn’t Friday another office date?”

“Yeah, but we can go to the karaoke bar after. It’s not like we’ll get wasted with Kate and the others, especially not you.”

David smiles at that, and nods. “Okay, I’m in. But if it’s a karaoke bar, fair warning: I won’t sing.”

“Aw, no fun,” Tommy frowns at him exaggeratedly, and David rolls his eyes. Before they can say more, a bus pulls up and Tommy flags it.

“Forty-one,” he says. “This one’s me. See you tomorrow!” He stands, and David watches him board. David can’t help but feel bewildered as he watches the bus pull away, and he’s only pulled out of his reverie by the arrival of his own bus a minute later.

*

On Friday, the office—meaning the ten full-time employees and whichever interns don’t have anyone more interesting to see—dutifully heads to a mid-tier bar with weird green lighting and an unnecessarily elaborate snack menu.

“This place smells weird,” Kamala remarks once they’ve settled in two booths. She, Kate, Tommy, Kate’s girlfriend America (an honorary member of the office), and David are sharing a booth. Kamala’s the only intern who regularly joins their bar nights.

“Well, the menu looks great!” Tommy answers enthusiastically as he lays it, open-faced, on the table. The rest of the group looks at him dubiously.

“Overpriced,” America mutters. “Who picked this place?”

Blithely ignoring America, Tommy says, “I think we should get an order of the overpriced onion rings. Objections?”

“Sounds good to me,” Kate shrugs. “Mozzarella sticks?”

“They’re called four-cheese fried strips, actually,” Tommy replies, “but those sound great to me.”

“So what are everybody’s weekend plans?” Kate asks once they’ve ordered. They have the same conversation pretty much every week, with varying degrees of success.

“I have a hot date,” Tommy volunteers. David looks at him, curious, and he grins back.

“Let me guess,” Kate says. “The bartender?”

“Ha, ha,” Tommy rolls his eyes, but he’s still grinning. Could he mean David?

“Anybody have more interesting weekend plans?” Kate asks. “David?”

“Um,” David says. “I have plans with a friend,” he looks at Tommy uncertainly, and wonders if he’s imagining the change in his expression. “And a date,” he adds quickly. Schrodinger’s date, he thinks. He glances at Tommy once more, but Tommy’s looking up over David’s shoulder. Their waitress is here with the onion rings and not-mozzarella sticks. Everybody shuffles their drinks out of the way so the waitress can set the plates down, and David watches the way Tommy looks at the waitress as she does so.

“Friend-plans _and_ date-plans?” Kate sounds surprised, or impressed. “You never have weekend plans!”

“Well this weekend I do,” David says, a little defensive. He wonders what he’ll tell her on Monday, when she inevitably asks about the date and the friend. He’ll have to lie, he reluctantly concludes.

“I also have a date,” Kamala offers. “His name is Scott, he’s _super_ cute—at least his pictures are—do you guys have any advice? I’ve never been on a date with someone I haven’t met before.”

“Make sure you have some conversation starters planned,” Kate suggests. “Some guys—I mean, people in general, but I didn’t have this problem as much with girls—don’t know how to make conversation _at all_.”

“She’s right,” Tommy admits. David nods his agreement. 

“Kate Bishop, queen of conversation-making,” America says, smirking.

“Shut up,” Kate replies, nudging her girlfriend playfully. “We can’t all be stone-cold silent-types, you know.”

“In every relationship, there must be a stone-cold silent-type and a queen of conversation-making,” David says sagely. Everybody laughs, and the conversation devolves into a list of various fictional couples who do and do not subscribe to this standard.

Once the food’s been eaten and the beers finished, the table unanimously decides not to order a second round. Kate confers with the other booth, and returns to announce that the others are sticking around.

“Jonas and Cassie are having too much fun flirting to leave now,” she says conspiratorially once they’re all near the exit. Jonas and Cassie both work in design, so David’s not surprised that something’s developing between them; he is surprised, though, by Kate’s blasé attitude.

“Office romance is allowed?” he asks.

“Of course,” Kate laughs. “I love that rom-com shit.”

David ponders Kate’s love of ‘rom-com shit’ relative to her love of a stable office environment. “You’re a great boss,” he says finally.

“I agree,” she and Tommy say in unison. Kate throws her arm around Tommy’s shoulders and leans into him. “You’re a treasure, Thomas,” she tells him. “It’s an honor to be in charge of you.”

“Only Monday to Friday, nine to five,” Tommy answers, grinning. “The rest of the time someone else’s in charge.” Before anybody can question him about that, he takes David’s wrist. “David and I are peeling off now, everybody have fun with your lovers, see you Monday!” He waves at them and steers David out of the bar so quickly that David nearly stumbles. He can hear Kate’s laughing protests fade as they head in the opposite direction.

“You’re a weird guy,” David says once they stop speed-walking.

“You wouldn’t have me any other way,” Tommy replies, “I hope.” He turns to David. He’s mostly shadow, but the streetlight illuminates him enough for David to make out his smile.

David smiles back, almost in spite of himself. “So weird,” he reiterates. He’s tempted to ask about Tommy’s date but doesn’t want to be disappointed, so he refrains.

“Tell me a bit about yourself,” Tommy says, in an imitation-psychologist voice.

David thinks for a moment. “I have a younger sister, Kim,” he offers. “I grew up in Chicago, but moved to New Jersey for college.”

“Opinion on deep dish pizza?” Tommy asks immediately.

“Um, it’s fine. I prefer New York style, to be honest.”

“Correct answer,” Tommy nods. “Continue.”

“I’m not sure what else to say.” David shrugs and glances sidelong at Tommy, but Tommy’s looking ahead of them.

“There it is,” he says, pointing toward a storefront with rainbow lights in its window. He starts jogging toward it, and David reluctantly follows suit.

Tommy holds the door open for him, and David reluctantly steps into the dark bar. The lighting is bluish, which is definitely preferable to the green of the last place, but still disconcerting. It’s not too loud, either despite or because of the person performing on the stage at the back.

“A ballad,” Tommy says sympathetically. “Someone’s going through it tonight.” He leads David towards the back of the bar, stopping at a two-person table. “We can sit here, since you don’t want to perform. Good view, good noise level, good lighting.” He grins. “Time for some brain picking.”

“How deep are we going?” David asks, only partly joking.

“Hopefully not deep enough that I turn you off to my company,” Tommy answers lightly as they sit. “So, high school. What were you like?”

“Embarrassing,” David says easily. “I was pretentious, I studied hard. I didn’t loosen up until college.”

“You loosened up in college? Man, I can’t imagine how serious you were then if this is you _after_ you’ve loosened up.”

David laughs. “What about you, then?” He can’t help but be curious about the juvenile detention Tommy had mentioned earlier, but he doesn’t mention it explicitly. If Tommy wants him to know, he’ll tell.

“I was a regular Holden Caulfield,” Tommy shrugs. “Miserable kid. My dad was a dick, my school had a lot of assholes, blah, blah. I was definitely a late bloomer socially. But I met Billy right after high school.”

“Billy?” David asks.

“My brother,” Tommy clarifies. “He found me. I think you’d really like him, actually. And his boyfriend, who’s crazy-nice.”

“How’d he find you?”

“Good old-fashioned online sleuthing,” Tommy says, fidgeting absentmindedly with the sleeves of his shirt. “I was in juvie for causing a classroom fire in high school. It was an accident, but the jury didn’t think so.”

David wants to ask more questions, but he’s not sure what’s off-limits and he doesn’t want to push boundaries, so he merely watches Tommy.

“I get so jealous of him sometimes,” Tommy admits then. “It’s really—ugly of me, I know…”

“It’s normal,” David says gently before Tommy can continue.

Tommy looks up, surprised. “You think so?”

“I do,” David says firmly.

“Thank you,” Tommy says quietly, voice sincere. He plays with the drawstring of his sweatshirt. He’s a fidgety guy, David observes.

“You can tell me about you and Billy,” David offers. “I mean, if you want to talk about it. I don’t mind.”

Tommy looks up, looking so open and vulnerable that it takes David by surprise, but instead of saying anything he stands abruptly. “We are too sober for a karaoke bar,” he declares. “I’ll get drinks, be right back.”

David watches him go to the bar and wonders if he said the wrong thing.

When Tommy returns, he’s holding two margaritas.

“Beer before liquor, et cetera, I know, but they sounded so good. I hope you like margaritas,” he says by way of explanation, setting them on the table.

David takes a sip of his; it’s delicious. “It’s really good, thank you,” he says. Tommy smiles back at him.

“Me and Billy,” he says then. “Billy and I.”

“If you want,” David adds. “I don’t mean to pry…”

“No, don’t—you don’t have to worry about that. I just don’t want to make things weird, is all.”

“You won’t make things weird,” David promises. “Or if you do, it’s no big deal. I swear.”

Tommy smiles softly at David again, and David feels his burgeoning crush grow stronger. So much for not harboring feelings for the guy.

“He has really cool parents, for one thing,” Tommy says. “Which is _awesome_ , of course, and I’d never _trade places with him_ , but I wish they could have taken both of us.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I mean, it was my parents that split us up, I know that for a fact, but still. And he has Teddy, who’s so nice, but whenever I see them together it’s like. I don’t know. Being single just gets old, you know?”

“I hear you,” David agrees. Preaching to the choir, he doesn’t add, though it’s true: David hasn’t had a serious relationship since college.

“I guess that’s it,” Tommy shrugs. “But Billy and I aren’t all that close—we are, but we aren’t, I guess, it’s hard to explain—so maybe he feels that way about me, too. It just feels like he turned out so normal, though, and I turned out so _fucked up_ ,” he’s evidently frustrated, but then he looks up at David and seems to deflate. “Jeez, I’m making a terrible impression, I’m sorry.”

“You’re not,” David reassures him. “You made the terrible impression when you caught three typos indexing your first manuscript with us.”

Tommy laughs. “You remember that?”

“Of course.” David doesn’t need to mention that it’s more because he’d love-at-first-sighted Tommy than because he hates making mistakes. “I’m good at my job, but I definitely felt incompetent when that happened.” Kate hadn’t let him live it down for days, he recalls.

He takes another sip of the margarita, then asks, “How’d you meet Kate?”

“She and Billy were college friends,” Tommy answers, tracing the rim of his drink. “He introduced us. We sort of dated, actually, but it was kind of a disaster. She’s great, obviously, but neither of us had our shit together. I think dating was just a way of putting it off—getting our shit together, I mean.”

David nods slowly, taking it in. It’s crazy to think of Kate dating anyone other than America. He wonders if Tommy’s still holding a candle for Kate, but concludes that no, he doesn’t think so.

“But now you have your shit together?” David asks, half-smiling.

Tommy looks up and returns his smile. “More or less,” he answers honestly. “Some days more than others, that’s for sure.”

“I think that’s the best anybody can hope for,” David says. “Cheers,” he clinks his own margarita against Tommy’s.

“Cheers,” Tommy agrees. He drinks it all, then says, “I’m gonna sing. Duet?”

“No way,” David replies, smiling. “All you.”

Tommy goes to the stage and David watches him. He’d stripped off his sweatshirt before climbing up, revealing his rumpled work attire. He looks like a disheveled waiter, David thinks, and it’s really sexy.

David doesn’t recognize the song, but is surprised by the folk-y sound of it. He’s even more surprised when Tommy starts singing. His voice is nice: he can clearly carry a tune, and his voice is low and rough without being harsh. It’s incredibly attractive. And Tommy has a decent stage presence, too: he stamps his foot along with the beat, and stalks across the stage as he sings.

He meets David’s gaze as he finishes the song, and grins as he hops off the stage. He gets a good amount of applause, and when he returns to the table, David asks, “Were you in a band?”

“Ha, I wish,” Tommy laughs. “I can’t play any instruments. That reminds me, what are your hobbies?”

“I’m boring,” David lists his hobbies on his fingers. “Reading,” that’s one, “and running.”

“Running,” Tommy echoes. “I like running, too,” he says. David definitely hadn’t said he _likes_ running, he mostly does it to counteract the bodily damage that his office job is inflicting. Then again, he’d run with Tommy any day.

“What else do you like?” David prompts.

“You mean aside from your company?” Tommy asks, grinning. David feels his face get hotter, but he does his best to ignore it. “I run, I watch a lot of movies. You and I aren’t very exciting people, sounds like.”

“I disagree,” David says. “You’re very interesting.”

“Flatterer,” Tommy says dismissively, but he’s still smiling. Tommy has a great smile, David thinks.

Something about Tommy’s flirting emboldens David enough for him to ask, “Is this a date?”

Tommy looks caught, then, and freezes. David watches him curiously. “I mean,” Tommy says. “Do you want it to be?”

“I just don’t want to fall for a straight guy,” David says. The margarita (stronger than it tasted!) is making him brave. Liquid courage indeed. 

“Oh,” Tommy says, exhaling. He’s fidgeting with his sleeves again. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Cool,” David nods. Before he can say or ask anything more, though, Tommy forges on.

“I really like you,” he confesses. “I know we barely know each other, but I want…” he trails off and looks at David, who’s dumbstruck by Tommy’s admission.

“Tommy,” David says slowly. The trapped look returns to Tommy’s face, so David quickly continues. “I want it, too. Whatever you’re going to say.”

Tommy sighs again, relieved. “Okay,” he says.

David reaches across the table then, brushes Tommy’s hair out of his eyes—he’s always wanted to do that. “We should go slow, though,” he says. “Unless you mean a hook-up, in which case we should probably not.”

“No, no, I didn’t mean a hook-up,” Tommy says quickly. “Unless—”

“No,” David reassures him. “You’ve been my office crush since we met,” he confesses.

“No way,” Tommy says. He shakes his head, disbelieving, but David nods insistently.

“I really want to get to know you more,” David says sincerely. “I really like you. But like I said, I think we need to go slow.”

“Yeah, of course,” Tommy agrees. “I mean, work. And we’re barely friends.”

“I resent that,” David says.

“I mean,” Tommy tries again, but David reaches across the table and touches Tommy’s hand. Tommy stops fidgeting and looks up, flushing.

“I just want to do things right, is all,” David says. Tommy nods. “So, next Friday?”

“Yes, please,” Tommy says quickly. “Definitely.”

David grins. He feels euphoric, drunk and thrilled and in disbelief at his good fortune.

“Would it be weird if we kissed now?” Tommy asks then. David decides that no, it wouldn’t be weird. They can kiss now, and then take things slow. Yeah, that’s what they’ll do.

**Author's Note:**

> the song tommy sings is sleeping on the blacktop by colter wall! yes these two are on my mind in the year 2020... i love them. fandom of one over here lol


End file.
